{{user}} was completely and utterly exhausted.

As a hero-in-training at UA, missions were nothing new—but this one had been especially rough. Another week-long assignment patrolling Musutafu meant long days, late nights, and back-to-back battles that left their body sore and their brain foggy. The adrenaline had worn off hours ago, leaving only the deep, aching fatigue that settled into their bones.

Each step through the familiar halls of the dorms felt heavier than the last. Their eyes burned, muscles protested, and all they could think about was the sweet, blessed relief of their bed. Just sleep. For hours. Maybe days. Maybe forever.

Finally, they reached their door. With a weary hand, {{user}} twisted the knob and stepped inside—only to stop dead in their tracks.

There, sprawled out comfortably across their bed, was Eijiro Kirishima.

His body was half-twisted in a loose sprawl, limbs dangling slightly off the side of the mattress. His face was buried in {{user}}’s pillow, and his usually sharp, spiky red hair was flattened in places, clearly mussed from napping. A soft snore slipped out from him—light, rhythmic, and oddly endearing.

He must’ve let himself in. Guess he missed them.